


Labours and Dangers

by Daydreamer5187, StegesaurusKay



Series: Labours and Dangers Universe [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Adopted Son, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cop AU, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Kidnapping, Mild non-con touching, Murder, Protective Washington, Rape/Non-con Elements, Washingdad, Whump, Worried Parent George Washington, non-consensual drugging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreamer5187/pseuds/Daydreamer5187, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StegesaurusKay/pseuds/StegesaurusKay
Summary: Captain Washington has been hunting relentlessly for over a decade for the man that killed his wife. But before that, his top priority will always be keeping his son safe; it is unfortunate that the two become synonymous as Alexander is targeted - taken - due to Washington's pursuits.It just gets progressively worse from there.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens
Series: Labours and Dangers Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118426
Comments: 42
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We wish to make it clear that although this is a Cop AU/Political AU both Kay and myself, Avie, support the Black Lives Matter movement. This is a fictional piece of work influenced by years of pro-cop propaganda that has become its own genre. In real life, the policing system absolutely needs change until BIPOC can be safe in a system that historically has been in place to harm them. We're also anti-Trump, so if we see any mention of him in the comments your comment will be taken down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the dumbasses who brought you the magic au we bring you a cop au, please enjoy.

Later on Washington won’t recall the short drive from the precinct to the hospital. He won’t recall the short phone call directing him there. One moment he’s in the car, driving like a madman to get to the hospital in record time, and the next he’s standing at the reception desk staring down at a receptionist busy on the phone. 

Where  _ is _ he dammit?! Washington looks down a nearby hall, turns his head and finds an identical one to the other side. He has no idea which way he’s supposed to go.

Finally the nurse hangs up and he doesn’t waste a moment, hands resting heavy against the edge of the desk. “Alexander Hamilton. Where is he? I was told he was brought in with a gunshot wound.”

Somehow Washington’s voice remains even as he utters the words. He has no idea what sort of shape the boy is in. He only knows he’s been-

“Shot?” His head turns sharply back to the receptionist as she stands. “The officer who came in with the gunshot wound?”

“Yes. Where is he?”

The receptionist steps around the desk, eyes his uniform and gives a quick nod, “They’re working on him now. This way, sir.”

Washington can’t garner any information from the woman’s expression or tone- probably years of practice on her part, but it’s driving him mad. How can she be so calm when Alexander… Alex may be  _ dying? _

And then he hears it. 

“I don’t understand why I have t’stay, I’m _ fine! _ This is a waste of time, I don’t need-” Alexander. Alexander  _ complaining _ . It’s so very much like his son that a breath of air rushes out of Washington’s chest. 

The captain rests his forehead against the doorframe, his hands trembling against his pant legs where he clenches them. His ears roar with the intensity of his heartbeat, fluttering in his chest like the hummingbirds Alexander used to watch on their patio. 

He thought he was going to lose his son. 

He’d been  _ so sure, _ all his worst nightmares coming to light, everything he’d dreaded from the moment Alexander had told him his plans to join the force. All they had told him was that Alexander had been shot while on duty, that he was at this hospital, and that was  _ it.  _

He doesn’t understand- how is this… what… what happened? What did it matter? Alexander is alive, he’s fine - he’d declared so multiple times - and he’s safe. That’s everything. 

“Sir!” Laurens notices him first, jumping to his feet, followed quickly by Lafayette. With a similar shout. “We meant to call you, we’re so sorry-” 

“What happened?” Even still, after this emotional rollercoaster, he manages to keep his voice even, commanding. There’s so much to take in as Washington steps into the room. Laurens and Lafayette, in a chair on either side of Alexander, sitting up in the bed. His shirt is gone and Washington quickly spots it on the floor, his chest splotched on one side with a purpling bruise.

There’s a neat little hole in the middle, and if he were to examine the kevlar vest underneath, Washington is sure he’d find the same thing. 

“It was a routine patrol,” Lafayette speaks up as Alexander visibly flushes next to him. “Officer Schuyler was out sick this morning, and Laurens and I didn’t have an assignment yet, so we went with Alex. We weren’t investigating anything, it was just that, there was a call, maybe a B&E, maybe an armed perp. And then it came out of nowhere, the shot.”

Washington loses his breath again for a few moments as the picture plays in his head. Alexander walking along the sidewalk and abruptly being shot in the chest. “The suspect’s in custody or-”

“No, Captain,” Laurens answers this time. “There was chaos after the shot. We couldn’t tell where it came from. Officers are investigating the scene now, but last we heard there’s no trace of a shooter and no weapon or any sort of evidence found.”

“And I’m  _ fine _ .” Alex finishes for him. “Maybe a cracked rib, but I don’t need to  _ stay _ here. Can’t we leave?”

“No,” Laurens and Lafayette answer at the same time.

Washington huffs a laugh, his son’s friends are always the sensible ones in the partnership, that’s why he assigns them together whenever possible. The boy can’t seem to keep a steady partner, and even vetran officers have complained to Washington about his incessant energy and rushing into danger. But Laurens and Lafayette, they’ve been watching out for Alexander since he was a boy. 

“You’re lucky you were wearing the kevlar,” Lafayette huffs, “if you weren’t-” 

“But I was-” 

“But if you _ weren’t  _ we’d be in a much different room right now, and wouldn’t be  _ nearly  _ so calm, so lay down, shut up, and stay there until the good nurses tell you otherwise.” 

Alex’s mouth falls open, and then closes, and then opens again. Then he looks at Washington. 

“Don’t look at me, Alexander, I agree with the Sergeant.” 

He receives a huff in response, Alex rolling his eyes as he so often did.  _ God,  _ he almost  _ lost _ him. 

“Would you roll your eyes at any other commanding officer?” 

“Are you here as my guardian or my commanding officer?” 

“I’m not entirely sure in what capacity I’m here as officially, but right in the now I’m here as your guardian.” His voice catches at the end of his sentence - he’d been  _ terrified _ \- and he wants to cry or hug his son or both.

Laurens and Lafayette glance at one another, and mutter something about getting a coffee, leaving just Washington and Hamilton in the room. 

Alexander watches them go with a frown, he hates hospitals (for good reason) and he hates being fussed over. 

“I was worried,” Washington says at last, breaking the silence. 

“I know,” Alex whispers back, meeting his gaze. In his eyes Washington sees all he needs to, his son had been scared. “I thought- at first I just- I forgot I was wearing the vest. And I… I remembered how I felt when  _ you- _ ” Alexander’s voice _ does _ break, and Washington is across the room in seconds, wrapping his arms around Alex and pressing him into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” Alex breathes against his neck, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I’m only glad that you’re alright, safe. That’s all that ever matters to me Alexander, that you’re okay.” 

Alex nods, and Washington tightens his hold for just a moment before releasing him.

Alexander feels Washington press a kiss into his hair, lips moving to form words he says in so many other ways often enough, but rarely so outright. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Alex murmurs back, cheeks flushing in unwanted embarrassment - he shouldn’t flush whenever his father says he loves him. 

The moment is broken by the door opening, and in enters a light haired nurse. She smiles at them both and checks Alex’s chart quickly before addressing her patient directly. 

“I need to take you for some X-Rays now, Officer Hamilton, just to check that your broken rib isn’t causing any more severe complications.” 

“S’just cracked,” Alex mutters, glancing at Washington with a hidden plea in his eyes. Clearly he’s had a long day, he wants to go home.

Washington sighs and steps aside so the nurse can get to the edge of the gurney. She checks the fluid bag Alex is hooked up to, and then glances up at him. Alex is a grown man. He can say no, check himself out against medical advice, but, “You’ll get the x-ray. And then you can get checked out.” He glances at the nurse for confirmation, and she smiles.

Alex huffs, but he finally nods, and the nurse rolls the gurney out of the room, leaving Washington alone.

This is not Alex’s first trip to the hospital in the line of duty, though most others who work alongside him would insist most every time he’s wound up in an emergency room it’s been his own fault. At least this time he’s truly a victim. He can milk the small bit of pity he’s willing to accept from his friends.

They pass Laurens and Lafayette in the hall, and Alex waves them off. “I’ll be out of here in an hour or so.”

“Only if you do as you’re told,” Laurens quips with a smirk.

Alex rolls his eyes, “Go home.” 

The nurse rolls him into an empty, dark room, and for a moment Alex lays quietly. The nurse tightens a strap against his arms to keep him still- someone must have mentioned that he’s been known to fidget. But then in the dim light he sees the flash of a syringe. He’s been to the emergency room enough times to know an x-ray doesn’t require sedation. 

“Hey, what are you-”

He stops as the syringe’s contents are injected into the IV, and stares at the nurse. It’s hard to make out her face in the darkness, or maybe it’s because whatever was in the syringe is already affecting him.

Alex jerks to reach one hand to the needle, to stop whatever’s flowing into his system, but he can’t reach. Right. He was tied down.

“This’snt right…” The sounds are so heavy on his tongue. He can’t make the right words. The nurse steps to the side, disposing of the syringe before she returns to his side, and places a cool hand against his forehead.

“You’re all right. It’s already starting to work. Just relax.”

Alex thrashes weakly against the bonds. He looks at the nurse again, and now he can’t see her face at all. By the time he thinks to open his mouth to shout all of his strength is gone, and unconsciousness claims him a moment later.

No one stops to question a nurse wheeling her sleeping patient down the hall. It happens every hour of the day with dozens of patients. No one stops her when she wheels the bed into a maintenance elevator at the end of a long hall. By the time they’re outside, there’s no one to see them at all. 

A black car waits a few steps from the elevator and she goes, no time for hesitation now. One of the back doors opens, and one of the two men inside step out. “Nobody saw you?”

She takes a moment to gather her courage before shaking her head. “No. You took care of the cameras?”

The man scoffs, seemingly insulted to be asked such a question. He steps to the side of the gurney and lifts the sleeping boy into his arms, and then carefully passes him to his partner in the car.

“What about my pay?” The nurse takes a tentative step after them, but when the man turns back, she freezes.

“The kid was uncooperative? Refused the x-ray and checked out against medical advice?”

She nods, “That’s what I put in my notes. His signature on the check out sheet is copied from a visit a few months back.”

The man smirks and gets back into the car. “If your story holds up you can check your bank account tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be pleased. But, should you make a mention of this to anyone…”

“My lips are sealed,” She says firmly.

“Good.”

The car door slams shut, and a moment later the car drives away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so excited to start this project! It's something we've talked about since we came up with the idea and now we've finally done it! Thank you for reading! Please tell us what you think/scream at us for this!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is missing, but someone has him right where he wants him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We wish to make it clear that although this is a Cop AU/Political AU both Kay and myself, Avie, support the Black Lives Matter movement. This is a fictional piece of work influenced by years of pro-cop propaganda that has become its own genre. In real life, the policing system absolutely needs change until BIPOC can be safe in a system that historically has been in place to harm them. We're also anti-Trump, so if we see any mention of him in the comments your comment will be taken down.

Washington waits, and waits, and waits. He waits for the x-rays to be finished for what must be hours. These things do take time, he knows that more than most thanks to Alex’s reckless streak, but it shouldn’t be taking  _ this _ long. 

When he asks about it though, he’s brushed off and told that he just needs to be patient, which, when you’re inquiring about your _ shot  _ son, is irritating. The nurses change shifts and he’s still waiting, anxiously pacing the length of Alexander’s room. 

Finally Washington's patience comes to an end and he steps out of the room and stops the first passing nurse in the hallway. She’s tall and thin and carrying a couple clipboards. Clearly she’s just starting her rounds, but Washington is frustrated and someone needs to give him answers before he starts going room to room to find Alex.

“I’m looking for my son,” He starts, and doesn’t give her the chance to interrupt. “He was taken for x-rays over two hours ago now and he hasn’t returned. Alex Hamilton.”

The nurse blinks, and then nods as the name seems to sink in. She flips through the pages of one clipboard, then the other, reading through names and notes. “Hamilton…”

“Police officer. He was brought in with a gunshot wound to the chest, caught by a bulletproof vest. The nurse earlier took him for x-rays to make sure there were no complications from a broken rib.“

“I don’t have that name on my list,” She shakes her head as the papers fall back to the clipboard. Her lips purse together and she looks back up at Washington, “How long did you say you’ve been waiting?”

“Two hours.” It’s been  _ at least _ two hours. Washington can’t recall the exact time. 

“I’ll check the computer, see if anything’s been entered,” She turns back toward the nurse’s station and Washington follows. He is not going back to wait in that room again. 

The short walk to the station is silent, and Washington is tense. He's frustrated, a simple x-ray shouldn't take this long. As they approach the open office area at the end of the hall he has to stop himself from following her around the desk. She sits at a computer and begins to type, and Washington forces his eyes elsewhere, struggling to keep from demanding answers this very moment. There's a list of names on the wall behind her, nurses on the current shift. The name at the top, Angelica, the Charge Nurse, that must be the woman he's speaking to. 

"It looks like an Alexander Hamilton checked himself out an hour and a half ago. I have a digital signature. " Washington's head snaps back to her at that. No, that's not right. Alex wouldn't just  _ leave _ without a word to him.

He pulls his dying phone from his pocket and sends a text. 

/Where are you?/

Washington waits a minute for a response, but none comes. Nurse Angelica makes a confused sound and furrows her brow. 

"What is it?"

"It looks like the x-ray was ordered, but he checked out before it took place."

But that- that doesn’t make any sense. 

Alexander is stubborn and reckless and he doesn’t  _ like  _ listening to him but he  _ did  _ in this case _.  _ Especially with something like this, if only to calm Washington’s anxieties. 

Angelica pulls her phone from her pocket and dials a number. When she puts the phone to her ear, it’s only a second or two before she makes a disappointed face and hangs up. She sends a text, and frowns. “Phone’s off,” She mutters before sending another text, and then pocketing her phone.

Washington feels the same panic rise in his chest as when he first entered the hospital hours ago. Something is wrong. Alex would not just leave without telling somebody. Washington steps away from the desk and takes his own phone again. He dials Alex’s number, and the dread builds even more when the call goes straight to voicemail. Alex  _ never _ turns his phone off. He’s always insisted he can sleep through anything. 

Next he texts Lafayette and Laurens. Surely if Alex left on his own he would have told one or the other. But those responses come quickly. Neither have heard from him since they left the hospital. 

When Washington looks up again he spots Angelica standing next to her desk, her lips set in a drawn line as she taps another message on her phone.

“Anything?”

She seems startled, looks up, and pockets her phone much more quickly than she did the last time. “I- no. My counterpart has her phone off. Must’ve been a long shift. I’ll see if anyone else here saw Officer Hamilton before he left. I already have a call in to the floor manager.”

Washington almost interrupts. He wants to tell her to check security cameras, but he’s certain she doesn’t have the authority to allow that. 

“You look like you need to rest. Go home for now. Leave me your number, if you don’t mind,” Angelica hands him a slip of paper and pen from her desk. “When I find out what happened I’ll contact you right away, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Washington.”

“Oh,” Angelica briefly flushes red and takes the paper back once Washington writes his number down. “My apologies, I just assumed the name when I realized you’re his father.”

Washington gives her a look that he’s sure, with over two decades’ experience in his job, seems suspicious. “How did you know that?”

“I see parents in here with their children all the time. The age doesn’t matter, fatherly concern is easy to spot. There’s nothing more you can do here for now, and I’m sure we can get this straightened out.. Go home.We’ll call you once I speak with my counterpart.”

Washington opens his mouth to argue, but after a moment closes it again. She’s right. There’s nothing he can do here except follow this nurse around while she checks paperwork and rooms. He deflates, nods, and turns to go with a muttered thanks. Just before he exits the hall Washington glances back. 

Angelica is texting again, but even from this distance he sees the look of concern on her face.

...

Washington paces his living room for the hundredth time in the two hours since arriving home. 

He wants to cling to the belief that Alex will come home, that he just got frustrated enough that he stormed out of the hospital and is taking a walk or getting food or anything of the like. 

It is so much easier to believe that he was safe than the alternative. 

But the fact of the matter is this; Alexander would never do this. He would never disappear without a word to Washington or his friends, not after what happened today; he would never leave George in this panic. 

They have been through too much together for that to be even a possibility. 

But it is so much easier than believing the alternative. 

Washington sends out another text and then nervously fidgets with his phone. /Alexander, where are you? I’m worried./ 

He paces. 

Time is agonizingly slow and passing in the blink of an eye all at once. 

His son doesn’t reply. 

More time passes. The sun goes down.

Washington  _ knows  _ something is wrong here, so he calls it in. He knows how Missing Persons works, he knows that Alex is an adult, and he hasn’t been missing for twenty-four hours, but there’s something  _ wrong,  _ he can feel it. This can’t wait any longer.

The dispatcher picks up on the first ring and the words rush out, “My son is missing.”

“Okay sir, don’t panic, how old is the child?” The dispatcher’s voice is calm, she doesn’t miss a beat, trained to be perfectly collected in the face of tragedy. 

“He’s not- he’s twenty-four.” Washington knows what comes next. 

“How long has the individual been missing?” 

“He- he disappeared from the hospital earlier today and-.” 

“Sir, there’s a twenty-four hour period before you can report an adult missing-” 

“I know, but he wouldn’t do this! I know the procedures, I  _ know _ , but my son is in danger, I’m sure.” 

“I’m sorry sir, I’d be happy to direct you to a local precinct to speak with-” 

Washington hangs up the phone with a huff of frustration and growing dread;  _ something is wrong, his son is in trouble and there’s nothing he can do about it.  _

He tosses his phone onto the couch, sinks into his usual seat, and the phone immediately buzzes. Washington jumps and scrambles to pick it up. His heart is pounding as he unlocks and just as quickly he deflates. It’s Lafayette.

/We’ve dispatched an officer I’m coming with. Do you need anything?/

Yes. He needs Alex home. Now. He doesn’t respond to the text, and puts the phone down again. The instant he lets it go, there’s another buzz.

Washington expects another message from Lafayette, telling him he’s bringing food or planning to stay with him or maybe bringing John as well.

But this is a blocked number. His chest tightens as he unlocks and opens the message. There’s a picture of Alex, eyes closed, lying on a bed that is not his. Another buzz, another picture from a few steps back, Alex’s hands bound over his head. Washington rockets to his feet and his hands are shaking as he starts to type a response. Another message cuts him off.

/Tell anyone and he dies./

There’s a knock at the door.

Washington doesn’t know the officer at the door, but Lafayette stands right behind him, and there are two police cars parked on the street. Lafayette offers a smile, but Washington is frozen there, his phone against his chest in a vice grip. The officer says something that barely registers against the ringing in his ears. He doesn’t move from the doorway, so Lafayette slowly steps forward. 

“Can we come in, Captain?”

He nods slowly and leads them to the kitchen, ice settling in his heart. The officer- Washington blanks on his name, asks all of the standard questions, questions Washington himself has asked parents, siblings, friends, dozens of times in his career. He answers them all, forcing a calm tone that almost sounds numb. He doesn’t look at Lafayette once during the whole thing.

Finally the officer closes his notebook and gives another speech Washington knows well. He’ll be in touch once he can officially file Alex as a missing person- tomorrow morning. In the meantime if he hears anything from ‘the subject’ he needs to call immediately. Ultimately Lafayette gets up to show the officer out and the moment both of them leave the room his phone buzzes again.

/He’s awake./

And again.

/What should we play first?/

Washington’s fingers tremble. He shouldn’t respond, he  _ knows  _ it, but he’s typing out a reply before his brain catches up.

/Let him go and I’ll give you whatever you want./

There are bubbles, a response coming, and then footsteps in the hallway, coming closer. Washington rises quickly enough this time that his chair falls back and slams against the floor.

Lafayette appears in the doorway, jumping at the sound, “I told you I was coming back.”

“I’m sorry,” Washington closes his eyes a moment, sets his phone down and uprights the chair. “It’s just…”

“It’s Alex, I know,” Lafayette smiles. “This was hard to do, but he’s all right, I’m sure.”

Washington wants to scream about the texts, the pictures, but he holds his tongue. He offers the younger man coffee instead, which he accepts. For a few minutes while Washington searches for mugs and pods he tunes Lafayette out. He tunes everything out.

And then his phone buzzes again. Lafayette reaches over and picks it up from the table where Washington left it. “This is probably him now-”

“Gil-” Washington doesn’t get farther. His hand is half outstretched to his phone and he sees Lafayette pale. Slowly, he turns the screen for Washington to see.

"Captain? What is this?”

It’s another picture of Alexander, awake, eyes wide. And a message underneath. 

/I already have what I want./

… 

When Alexander claws his way back to consciousness it feels like he’s moving through molasses, the world is ringing in his ear and his eyes struggle to open, mouth feeling stuffed with cotton. 

He groans, and tries to move, can’t. 

No, no he can- barely. Ankles bound. He jerks his arms. He notices they’re above him. Tied to the headboard. 

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.” 

Alex gasps at the sudden voice, whipping his head to the side to face the other person in the room, swallowing the nausea the movement caused,  _ how did he not notice him before now?  _

He can’t make his voice work, the bound officer can hardly make a sound, never mind a word. He observes the stranger - his captor - with widened,  _ frightened  _ eyes, yet still clinical - always - trained to be that way. 

He looks just a little younger than Washington is, white, early forties maybe, with short brown hair that’s beginning to grey in some places, a kind of cold violence lurking behind the man’s dark eyes, a promise of pain hidden in the way he tipped his lips upwards into a grin. 

Alexander’s brain catches up with the fact that this man has let him see his face, and his eyes fill with fear again; he won’t be leaving here. 

“Oh look at that,” the man coos, advancing on the bed, brushing an errant piece of hair behind Alexander’s ear, his grin never dropping, “you look so pretty afraid, darling.” 

Alexander can’t say anything, the drugs or the fear preventing him from even trying, he jerks his wrists weakly and earns a chuckle from his captor. 

Who is he? What does he want with him? He doesn’t understand but he’s  _ scared.  _

“Do you remember me?” The man murmurs, keeping his fingertips brushing lightly against Alexander’s cheek. 

The boy’s eyes widen and fill with confusion tangled with his fear, his breathing picking up and stuttering. The man only chuckles again and withdraws his hand. 

“That’s a no then,” he comments casually, reaching into his jacket and retrieving a case, opening it without so much of a glance at Alexander. “Don’t worry,” he says, and Alex sees the flash of a needle as he removes the contents of the case, a flash of teeth at the same time, predatory. “You will.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed our latest chapter! We appreciate you reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving a comment!
> 
> Check out our tumblrs for more Hamilton content!
> 
> [Daydreamer's Hamilton Tumblr](https://accidentally-a-writer.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Kay's Hamilton Tumblr](https://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


	3. went quick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude - set ten years before the events of this story line. The Washington household experiences a home invasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Avie here! This is a very quick chapter that's being posted because inspiration suddenly struck and I just had to get it out. Just in case you haven't noticed the tags change: 
> 
> TW; gun violence, home invasion, blood, major character death

It’s raining out tonight, that must be why the lights went out. Alex looks up from his bed where he’s been dozing on and off between reading and frowns. His barefooted feet pad against the hardwood floor softly, his phone’s flashlight lighting the way. 

He doesn’t like the dark. 

Or the rain. 

It reminds him of that night, with his father. Broken glass and screaming and pain and the need to  _ run.  _

He knocks gently on the doorframe to his foster parents’ bedroom, feeling self-conscious. He’s fourteen years old, he shouldn’t be running to mummy and daddy’s room every time he feels scared. He can wait for the morning, just go to sleep… 

But he doesn’t  _ have to,  _ not here. 

“M-Martha? Washington?” His voice is barely there, he tries again, a bit louder. “Um... Washington?” They both wake, with a little groan. 

He feels guilty immediately, it’s the middle of the night, he shouldn’t have- 

“What’s wrong, honey?” Martha sits up, Alex can just barely make out the look of maternal concern outlined in the moonlight. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

“Power’s out,” Alex mumbles, scuffing his toes against the carpet. “I can just- just go back, sorry-” 

Washington stands, looking out the curtains where the streetlights and neighbours’ lights are still glowing. “It’s just our house,” the sergeant says, “huh, I should probably check the breaker.” 

The rain beats against the roof, sheets and sheets of it, and Alex still doesn’t like it. 

“Do you want to stay in here with me?” Martha offers, sitting up and scooching over for Alex to crawl into the bed. 

Well if he’s going to be a nuisance and wake them up for this he may as well try to help. “Um, no it’s okay, I can uh- I can maybe go… with you,” he looks up at Washington, asking. 

Washington smiles and nods. “Of course.” He finds his own flashlight and clicks it on, ruffling Alex’s hair as he passes. “You don’t have nearly enough bedhead.” 

Alexander huffs, but he hears Martha chuckle as she settles back under their duvet. 

With Washington around the dark isn’t so uncomfortable, not even as the pair make their way down into the cellar. Washington talks softly - it never feels right to talk at full volume when it’s the middle of the night and dark, does it? - about this and that, somewhat explaining what they’re going to be checking and then going off on tangents. 

There were two doors to the cellar, one on the inside of the house, and the back entrance that led into the yard. It’s not as insulated there so Alex shivers as him and Wasington make their way to the circuit breaker. 

His foster father is still talking but Alex zones out - not so much help after all - and listens to the rain instead. It could be a relaxing sound, if he isn’t alone and in the dark he actually likes the sound of rain. 

But then there’s a different sound. 

Washington hasn’t managed to get the power back on, everything he’s tried doesn’t work. It has to be an external issue, he says. 

And Alex hears glass breaking upstairs. 

“ _ Shh,”  _ he hisses, sharp eyes flashing to Washington. The sergeant falls quiet as well and then- there it is again, glass shattering. 

Someone is breaking in. 

Immediately, Washington is moving, taking the steps two at a time, but when he tries the door back to the kitchen he can’t get it open. He jiggles the doorknob, pushes as hard as he can, and it doesn’t open still. Something has been wedged underneath it and against the hinges, making it near impossible to open. 

“Washington?” Alex is at the bottom of the stairs, and he looks terrified. He remembers little about that night with his mother, the break in and subsequent murder, but it’s enough that everything about this situation terrifies him. “What’s wrong?” 

Washington says nothing, hurrying down the steps and rushing for the backdoor. 

Locked. 

“Washington?” Alex’s voice rises with his anxiety, and he curls into himself as Washington struggles to get the door open. “Washington? What’s going on?” 

And then the first gunshot from the house screams through the air and echoes in Alexander’s head. 

Washington visibly staggers and begins slamming his shoulder to the door, desperate to get it open. Oh God… oh God,  _ Martha.  _

There’s a little window that goes outside, it’s not very big, but Alex could fit through it. 

“ _ No!  _ No Alex! Alex  _ don’t!”  _ Washington turns only in time to see Alex wiggling out of the window. He makes a mad grab for the boy, willing to forcibly pull him back inside if he has to, but Alex is faster. “No! No Alex,  _ please!  _ Stop!” 

Alex casts an apologetic glance back at Washington, and then sprints off to go through the same window the person in their house did. 

There is someone with a  _ gun  _ in their house, there is someone with a  _ gun  _ with his wife and son and Washington is  _ separated from it. _

Washington loses composure quickly, shouting and throwing himself against the door again and again and again. 

He hears Alex’s pounding footsteps heading towards the cellar door and rushes to meet him -  _ good boy, even if I ground you for eternity for this -  _ and then there’s a shout, Alex’s, scared and in pain and surprised. 

Washington does not realize he’s not breathing until his lungs burn, demanding air. 

“Please don’t hurt him! He’s just a child, please! Please don’t! Please I beg you don’t hurt him!” 

A second gunshot, a body hits the floor, and Washington sobs. 

The gunshot pierces the air, just like thunder, and its echo is the wake of Washington’s utter devastation. He slides to his knees and sobs, hands bloody and resting on the door. 

The footsteps on the other side are calm, unrushed, even though the shots must have attracted attention by now. 

Has this person just murdered the entirety of Washington’s family? He doesn’t know, but- but that’s what it sounded like and his heart cannot take it. He feels ripped apart and hollowed out and yet all he can do is kneel and  _ scream.  _

Something is pushed away from the door, and the footsteps walk away. 

Washington launches himself up, throwing himself at the door until it comes open, and collapses on the kitchen tile, scrambling for any sign that the person is still there, scrambling for any signs that his family is still  _ alive.  _

He can see Alexander sprawled on the living room floor and rushes for him. He cradles his baby in his arms and presses two fingers to his neck, searching - God  _ please -  _ until he finally feels his pulse, steady and strong. 

There’s blood coming from his head, but it looks like he was struck, not  _ shot.  _

A misfire then. 

But then.

Then.

Washington looks up, up the stairs, and there’s a hand, just barely visible, limp and laying there. He cannot bear to leave Alexander for long, but he stands. 

Martha is in the hall; he can imagine it, her getting up to investigate the breaking glass, caught unawares- 

There is far too much blood. 

And his wife- his wife… she isn’t breathing. And she won’t ever again, the bullet is lodged expertly in her chest, piercing her heart. 

Washington hears sirens approaching, bathing the street in red and blue light. He should go downstairs, he should hold Alexander, but he can’t. 

All he can do is hold Martha and cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, even if it is unbearably sad :( It does get worse though, so, do with that what you will. Thanks so much for all your support and please leave a comment telling me what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington faces the consequences of withholding evidence, Lafayette tries to be there for him, as much as he can be. While he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next full instalment of Labours and Dangers, we hope you enjoy! 
> 
> We wish to make it clear that although this is a Cop AU/Political AU both Kay and myself, Avie, support the Black Lives Matter movement. This is a fictional piece of work influenced by years of pro-cop propaganda that has become its own genre. In real life, the policing system absolutely needs change until BIPOC can be safe in a system that historically has been in place to harm them. We're also anti-Trump, so if we see any mention of him in the comments your comment will be taken down.
> 
> tw for this chapter: implied/referenceed sexual assault, non-consensual drugging

“I-” Washington doesn’t have the words - he knows what he’s done is wrong. It’s inexcusable, but Alex, this is about  _ Alex. _ His chest is tight, he can’t breathe like he should be able to. 

Lafayette stands across from him, scrolling through the phone, pale, but he manages better than Washington to project calm. Of course Lafayette has not taken care of Alex for the last fifteen years. He is, however, a professional, and he has been on missing person cases before. “Sir, this person…”

“I know. I know,” Washington’s voice cracks.

“They do not intend to let him go. This,” Lafayette lowers the phone and he looks  _ hurt  _ when he meets Washington’s gaze. “This is evidence, Captain. Why would you not escalate this?”

“They  _ told me!  _ They said- you can  _ see…  _ if I told anyone they’d  _ kill  _ him!” 

“Sir…” Washington knows what Lafayette wants to say: complying with kidnappers’ demands does not ensure the victim’s safety and he  _ knows,  _ but Alexander is  _ terrified.  _ He just wants him  _ home.  _ “This person is not asking for a ransom, they’re playing a game with you.”

“I’ve lost my whole family _ ,”  _ Washington hisses, and there’s a flash of guilt and grief across Lafayette’s features, “Alexander is still alive! Or at least, he might have been, but if they- they  _ know  _ that you-” 

“Captain,” the sergeant tries gently, his own voice catching on emotion, “they are not going to let him go, there is no ransom demand. But, this evidence might help us find… him.” 

Or his body. 

“What were you going to do, alone, Sir?” 

Washington doesn’t have an answer. He knows what will happen next. Lafayette gives him a sad look, and then dials a number on his own phone, keeping Washington’s in a tight grip in his hand. 

Fifteen minutes later Washington is still seated in his chair, but the rest of the house bustles with activity. Lafayette and Laurens are giving statements while Washington’s phone is looked over by another officer. He won’t get the phone back; as Lafayette said it’s now evidence. But that means there’s no further information about Alex.

Washington has had to have this conversation with parents before, but now that it’s him, and it’s  _ his _ son that’s missing.

“Lieutenant Jefferson is on his way over...” Lafayette suddenly appears at Washington’s side, a hand against his shoulder. Washington lifts his head to look at him and his face conveys so much emotion- worry, disappointment, perhaps even betrayal. “He’s spoken with the city chief. I can stay, be here if you like.” 

He can't find his voice to answer. 

Withholding evidence in what is now a confirmed kidnapping… Washington could be suspended, fired; he could go to jail for what he’s done.

He goes to his safe, with Lafayette following close behind, and hands him first the magazine for his gun and then the gun itself, along with his badge. If they want to arrest him they can do it tomorrow. 

“I just want-” ‘to rest’ is on his tongue, but the words don’t make it past his mouth, he won’t be able to rest so long as Alex is gone, “I want him home,” he whispers. 

“I know Sir, I do too.” 

“I’m assuming if Lieutenant Jefferson is on his way I’m facing suspension,” Washington is too weary and worried to care. “Give him those, I don’t want to see anyone else tonight.” 

Lafayette watches him go up the stairs, gives the quiet order for everyone to quiet down or get out.

Desperate fathers should be allowed a night to themselves to grieve their child.

* * *

The phone rings, his home phone. Alex has teased him for almost five years about having a landline. It almost never rings. It’s four in the morning and he hasn’t slept yet. How could he? 

Somehow, he just  _ knows  _ that it will be nothing good when he picks up the receiver with shaking hands. 

There’s nothing for a moment, two, and Washington almost hangs up the phone to go lay back down and then, a scream. 

He gasps, the phone nearly slips. 

Alexander screams again, letting out a wretched sob. “No, no no no no, please…” he cries, “I don’t want it, I don’t want it- no _please!”_

“Alexander!” Washington cries into the phone, tears burning his eyes as he listens to his son beg. “Please! Whatever you’re doing- please stop!” 

What are they doing to him? God, please... he’s still Washington’s baby, he doesn’t deserve this, he hasn’t done anything - please please please, please don’t let this happen. 

He doesn’t get a response, nor does the horrible wailing stop. It becomes more muffled, gagged, still audible enough that Washington sobs listening to it. 

In that bedroom miles away a man presses his hand over the boy’s mouth, straddling his hips and keeping his thrashing legs pinned.

One hand pins both his wrists, the other wrenching at his elbow mercilessly. 

He’s careful not to speak, he’s careful not to let Hamilton speak either, now that the boy knows there’s an active phone call happening. 

This is nothing but more torture, there are no demands, there’s no tell, it’s just Washington listening to his son becoming undone. 

And Washington knows the moment his son’s captor gets what they want, hears the shrill  _ wail  _ from behind whatever they’ve covered Alexander’s mouth with, hears the bed creak as the thrashing intensifies and the screams do not  _ stop.  _

“Please…” he begs again, voice as fragile and cracked as a spider’s web, “please let him go, I won’t- I won’t tell anyone…” 

He wonders if the kidnapper already knows that the police know, wonders if this is a  _ punishment.  _

Everyone wants something - what do they want? They can’t- It can’t possibly be just to cause pain, there  _ had  _ to be something he could give up to end this. 

His badge had been taken, but he still would be able to… he would steal evidence, or money, or drugs, anything they wanted - there  _ had  _ to be something they wanted. 

Washington will gladly go to prison if it means saving his son from  _ this.  _

The screaming dies into sobs, and then into whimpers, and the hand is removed from the boy’s mouth. 

He gasps, eyes wide and pupils constricted, groaning and panting from exertion and fear, practically vibrating from the strain of the narcotic. 

The man traces his cheek, his lips, his collarbone, trailing down his chest as the boy writhes underneath him. 

His father is still on the line, screaming and begging -  _ anything he wants -  _ trying to bargain his way out of this when there is nothing he could say that would sway him from his plan. 

Foggily, Alexander knows that this man isn’t letting him go, and he must know he knows, surely Washington should be able to accept the same thing. 

He’s hunted for him for so long, desperate to revenge his poor wife, surely his not-quite son is a suitable sacrifice for finding out his mark’s identity… more or less. 

Alexander  _ knows  _ the moment the drug surpasses his senses, he feels himself begin to succumb to the feeling, starts writhing on the bed from it. It’s euphoria and torture all at once, Heaven and Hell. 

A hand trails further down his chest, toying with his pants. His fingers pop the button open, pull his zipper down, and Alexander feels his heart leap into his throat. 

“No… no stop.” His throat hurts with the force of his screams, it’s torn raw, and his voice is little more than a fearful whine. “Don’... don’t touch me.  _ Stop. _ ” 

Washington, from the phone, wails at his son’s whispered words. 

And the call abruptly ends.

* * *

There's a knock at the door just after the sun comes up. Washington didn't sleep; he doesn't know if he'll ever sleep again. Alex's cries echo in his head.

Lafayette lets himself in with his spare key, his voice calls out for Washington up the stairs. It’s just him today. The door closes behind him and the sergeant waits patiently in the living room for his disgraced captain. 

“Captain?” Lafayette sounds as tired as Washington feels, his voice ragged in a way it never is unless he’s running himself into the ground. “Captain, are you awake?” 

Washington closes his eyes, gathering the strength he needs to get through this. “Yes, Lafayette, I’m awake. I’ll be down in just a moment.” 

“Yes Sir.” The reply is automatic, engrained, but Lafayette winces with it as Washington barks a bitter chuckle. 

“Hardly necessary anymore, Sergeant, I’ve lost my badge for the time being.” Washington descends his carpeted stairs, locking eyes with his young - to Washington at least - mentee. 

“Your suspension doesn’t affect my respect for you, Sir,” Lafayette responds without missing a beat. He looks remorseful; he had to call it in, there was no other option… Washington had withheld evidence and if Lafayette knew and didn’t call he would have been just as guilty. He did the right thing, even if Washington cannot admit it.

“Do you have enough residual respect to tell me if you found anything on the phone? Or at the hospital?” 

Lafayette shoots him a pitying glance, quicking averting his eyes to his shoes. “You know I can’t… discuss that with you, Sir.”

“Then why have you come here, Gilbert?” Washington sighs, massaging his eyes as a headache grows. His agony has crested into numbness that feels like grief, and he cannot grieve; that implies his Alexander is dead. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he replies softly, grieved himself. “I know… I know you’re not, but we had to  _ try. _ ” 

Washington’s brows raise at ‘ _ we,’  _ to which Lafayette adds, “John is bringing breakfast soon. I don’t need to tell you how much we care for Alexander, Captain, he is like a brother to us. And you… we care about you as well.” 

“The only thing I need to be well is my son back,” Washington whispers in response. “You should be trying to find him rather than worrying about me.”

Lafayette follows him into the kitchen, his hurricane of emotions never leaving his eyes. “We were taken off the case. Jefferson has made it clear to John and I that we are too close, practically family ourselves,” he mumbles. 

“Is that who’s taken the captaincy? I thought Jefferson would do it. Good. I’m glad they didn’t send someone.” The men and women he knows in the precinct will do everything they can to find Alexander, but at the moment that thought doesn’t make Washington feel any better.

“Yes, Jefferson is in command now, but  _ you  _ are still our captain, Sir.”

Lafayette’s loyalty is one of the things that makes Washington so genuinely fond of him, that and his kindness. It makes it hard for Washington to stay irritable with him; he knows the boy would allow him to vent his griefs and irritations to him, but his conscience will not allow it. 

Washington goes to the kitchen and sits in the same chair as last night. The one he sat in when all Hell broke loose. Lafayette follows, a little slower.

“John was right behind me. He should be here soon.” Lafayette looks around the kitchen, frowning at the mess of food left out from last night, coffee cups, untouched dishes in the sink, a pot with something dried out now on the stove. “If you’d like you can get some rest and I-”

“No.”

Lafayette shuts his mouth. Clearly he knows better than to push this, though they must both be aware by now, as much as Washington doesn’t want to think about it, that eventually he will have to sleep, willing or not, come what may to the nightmares that will inevitably accompany it.

Even now, awake, he hears Alexander’s cries in his head.

“Gilbert…” Washington’s voice is dry in his throat, the phone call repeating over and over in his head and he  _ can’t _ tell him. “Have- has someone looked over old, unsolved cases of mine? Maybe whoever this is wants-” 

“Sir, I-”

Washington holds up a hand. He needs to get this out, “What I mean is it could be someone specifically targeting me, my family. Surely that would at least allow you to find-”

“I really can’t talk about this.”

“I just mean- there may be  _ suspects _ there, you-”

_ “Please!”  _ Lafayette’s fist strikes the table and Washington actually jolts in his seat. The emotion lingering behind his eyes, Washington wonders if he’s about to cry. “Sir, Alex is my  _ friend _ . I want to find him as badly as you. But John and I were taken off the case, and I really can’t discuss the details of the investigation before we were removed.”

Washington doesn’t push the subject, but there’s a tautness in his entire being, each muscle pulled tight. Lafayette ducks his head and shuffles to his coffeemaker, blinking away his tears as he lets himself get lost in the routine. 

He pours Washington’s coffee first, adding the splash of milk that only he, John and Alexander ever got right, according to the captain himself. 

Washington watches him, guilt curling around his throat before the grief extinguishes it and cycles back, over and over, a storm of emotions that demand he feel them. 

He accepts the coffee more from reflex than desire to eat or drink anything; he has no appetite. Hasn’t since Alexander went missing from the hospital. Takes a sip to stave off sleep for at least a few more hours. 

Lafayette doesn’t pour himself a cup of coffee, he starts the sink, filling it with hot water and adding dish soap to make it sudsy. 

“You don’t have to-” Washington interrupts, standing to usher the young man away from the dishes. 

“I want to,” Lafayette mutters, “it’s something to do.” 

He begins washing the dishes, lost in the methodical movements. They don’t talk, there’s nothing that Lafayette will say that will make a hint of difference. The closer they get to the twenty-four hour mark the closer this gets to being true grief. 

Except, Washington muses, grief is not reserved specifically for the dead. He’s lost his son just as surely as if that bullet yesterday had found Alexander’s heart. 

* * *

Washington next wakes on his couch. He doesn’t remember moving from the kitchen to the living room, but here he is. Lafayette sits on a chair across from him, a look of concern on his face as he scrolls through his phone and then taps away on the screen.

“What time is it?” Washington sits up slowly, instinctively reaching for the phone he no longer has.

“Almost two,” Lafayette says; tense, distracted. 

“What’s- what’s going on?” Oh his head hurts. He hasn’t gotten nearly enough sleep; less than three hours Washington figures.

Lafayette glances up from his phone, lips pursed tight together. “John still isn’t here. He’s not answering my texts.”

Washington rubs a hand over his face, struggling to force away the sleepiness. “He could have been called into the station?”

Something seems off about the younger man’s expression and he shakes his head. “He’d have at least texted… and dropped off the food. Your house is on the way.”

That sets off alarm bells in Washington’s head. He’s on his feet in an instant, ignoring the dizziness and reaching for Lafayette’s phone. There’s no struggle from Lafayette, but nor is there much of interest on the phone. Two texts over the last hour to Laurens asking where he is. Just below that is a number - not a contact - written in all capital letters. Washington clicks it.

_ Lafayette, Gilbert _

_ DOB 6 September 1988 _

A second text lists a social security number and Lafayette’s address. Washington frowns, and Lafayette is standing too, reaching for the phone. “Just spam,” He says with a shrug. “They send out personal information and they want you to respond. I already asked Eliza to look into the number. She’s on desk duty today.”

Washington blinks and Lafayette tilts his head.

"Officer Schuyler? She's been at the precinct for six months. She was Alex's partner for a while, but she's not been feeling well for about a month, so she's been working from the office."

Washington could almost chuckle had this been another situation. He can't quite put a face to the name, but Lafayette can always be counted upon to know everything about everyone. There’s a fond little grin in place on Gilbert’s face, and Washington wonders if he’s hiding a small crush. 

Lafayette takes back his phone, trying to hide the nervous glance at the message, but Washington sees it anyhow. 

“Bit weird that they have my socials,” Lafayette mumbles, biting his lip slightly. 

Just then another message pings through, Washington hears the tone, and when Lafayette reads it he pales. “What is it?” Washington tries to take the phone back but Gilbert doesn’t let him, turning it off instead. 

“Nothing,” he tries, a startled look in his eyes. 

“Lafayette,” Washington chastises,  _ implores,  _ “ _ Gilbert,  _ give it here, now.” 

He does, unlocking the phone with his thumb before handing it back to Washington. It’s another text message, from the same number as before. 

_ Wednesdays; Roxie’s Bar, 6th and Marine  _

_ Grey Honda Civic, 2012, 935 NHG  _

_ Galaxy Gardens Chinese Food. Order 4, extra hot sauce. Saturdays.  _

Along with his social security number and address it amounts to a worrying amount of information. Washington’s brow creases as he scrolls through, and then another message comes through, a picture. 

John and Gilbert, getting into Lafayette’s car with two brown bags - takeout probably - in their arms. The picture is clear, but taken from afar, no doubt, as both men are definitely not aware they’re being photographed. 

“There’s a photo here,” Washington says, worry increasing more than anything else.

Lafayette frowns and snatches his mobile back, examining the picture. “This is after we left the hospital,” he says, trying to keep the concern from his voice, at least, “we went to pick up food.” 

He might be trying to keep the alarm out of his expression but Washington sees it all the same. He should be alarmed, this is all pointing towards one terrifying conclusion- 

Another message. 

And then another.

And then another. 

And then another.

All pictures, all the same pictures. 

The outside of John’s apartment house. The outside of Gilbert’s apartment. 

Any colour that was left in Lafayette’s cheeks vanishes, and he scrambles towards the kitchen for his keys. 

“No- no, Gilbert-  _ don’t,”  _ Washington lurches after him, trying to get him to  _ stop.  _ He can’t go home, he can’t- they know, they know where he lives. He’s not  _ safe.  _ “Stay here,  _ please. _ ” 

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Lafayette, grabs his jacket and his keys in a huff, not to be stopped now, “but John isn’t answering and I’m going to go see him, and-” 

“And it could be a  _ trap. _ ” Washington manages to grab the young man’s arms, holding him there for a moment. “Listen to me, just stay here, we’ll call someone for John-” 

“I’m not waiting that long, his house is only twenty minutes from here,” Lafayette pulls away from him, heading straight for the door. He's not to be stopped now that his best friend had been threatened. 

Because there was no mistake here, this is a  _ threat.  _

“Lafayette-” 

Washington manages to pull him back again, keeping one arm on the boy’s forearm and the other over his shoulder. 

“Alex goes missing and you receive mysterious, untraceable text messages and the next moment so am I and they include John’s  _ house,  _ I won’t just ignore it!” 

“I’m not asking you to, I’m asking you to slow down and  _ think!”  _

Lafayette stares at him a moment, then dials a number into his phone. 

Less than twenty minutes later Washington sits in the passenger seat of Lafayette’s car, outside Laurens' apartment.

"His car is here," Lafayette points out the dark sedan a few spaces down. "Maybe he's asleep."

"You said earlier he was picking up food." Washington scans the familiar second floor window for any sign of movement.

Lafayette shrugs and almost smiles. "Wouldn't be the worst thing he's lied about." He fidgets. Backup should be here any minute, but he turns to Washington, "I'm going in. I have a key."

"Gil…"

"If he's not there I'll come right back."

Neither of them say it out loud, but they both know Lafayette could very well be investigating an officer down. Washington frowns. "Three minutes."

Lafayette nods and heads inside. Washington shifts uncomfortably in his seat and keeps watching the window. It's less than thirty seconds before a police car pulls up alongside.

Washington recognizes the two young officers, Tallmadge and Brewster, and gestures inside. "Lafayette just went in, less than a minute ago."

They nod, frowning slightly. “You can’t come in,” Brewster reminds Washington as they unclip their holsters. 

Washington nods, he knew that. He’s not an officer right now, frustrating as it is, he’s a civilian. Lafayette should have come out by now, what if Laurens is in there, hurt? But he  _ can’t  _ investigate with the two officers, he’s forced to sit there and  _ wait.  _ Wait like he did for Alex only to lose him anyways. 

It’s too soon that Brewster comes back, a confused look on his face. “You’re sure he went in? Apartment 205?”

“Yes,” Washington nods, and dread creeps up on him again. Something is wrong. 

“Nobody’s in there,” Brewster says. “No sign of struggle, just, nobody home.”

That doesn’t make sense in the least. There’s only one door into the place. Lafayette went in and Washington is sure he didn’t come out. “He’s only been in there- it can’t have been more than a minute before you two went in. He  _ has _ to be inside.”

What’s happened to Alexander is one thing, but in this case, a person can’t just  _ vanish _ . 

“There’s no one there, nothing to indicate there was a break-in,” Tallmadge shrugs. 

“No that doesn’t make any  _ sense, _ ” Washington hisses, “I came here with Sergeant Lafayette, Detective Laurens’ car is still in the lot, they should both  _ be here. _ ” 

There’s a look exchanged between the two officers, one that Washington doesn’t like. Like they know something that he doesn’t, or are thinking something he  _ shouldn’t.  _ Like he’s crazy. He’s not, none of this makes sense but it’s not  _ him _ . 

“Call Jefferson,” he orders, ready to find a radio or a phone and do it himself, “call him here,  _ now. _ ” 

* * *

When the car finally stops Lafayette has no idea where they are. He lost track of turns early on, and he’d woken up midway through the drive. 

His shoulders ache from being bound behind him, every little movement sends pain down his arms and back, and his hips and back are sore from the uncomfortable position on the floor of the car. 

Laurens lays above him on the seats, he assumes. He can’t see, a thick blindfold wraps over his eyes and no amount of squirming has dislodged it.

He hears Laurens’ bleary groan through the tape over their mouths, hears the leather of the seat creak as his friend tries to adjust himself. He’s sore and confused and frightened too. 

The front and passenger side door opens, there’s footsteps - this whole affair has been silent and efficient, no conversation at all between the two men who’d drugged and kidnapped them - and the backdoor finally opens. 

They grab Laurens, grunting as the detective kicks his legs and shouts from behind his gag, putting up as much of a struggle as he can, even with the fog of drugs still invading their senses. 

They slap him, hard, and he stops fighting. 

Gilbert is dragged up next, his grunts of pain caught by the duct tape and his limbs too stiff to make much difference as he squirms. 

The men drag him and Laurens from the driveway to some kind of walkway, and then up some steps, allowing them both to stumble and fall over the stairs rather than removing the blindfold. Finally they’re dropped on their knees in a carpeted room. Hands move against his head. Lafayette tries to jerk away, growling into the gag. 

The tape is mercilessly ripped away from their mouths. And the blindfold. He’s left blinking into suddenly too bright light, aware that Laurens is doing the same next to him. Lafayette pulls at his wrists, still bound behind his back.

The door shuts and locks behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, all three boys are in for a bit of trouble, poor things. Definitely tell us your predictions and your thoughts in the comments, those lovely little things keep the muse alive and the poor characters hurting. Feel free to come say hi to us on Tumblr too! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> [Avie's Tumblr!](https://accidentally-a-writer.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Stegekay's Tumblr!](https://stegekay.tumblr.com)


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